


Healing old scars

by Viola_Laterra



Category: The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 11:30:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17527916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viola_Laterra/pseuds/Viola_Laterra
Summary: After the war, Peeta's sleep is still disturbed by nightmares.  Fortunately Katniss knows what to do; and this time it leads to a conversation they haven't had the courage for, until now.(written 14 September 2017)





	Healing old scars

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this after seeing the movies but before reading the books. It's super interesting to compare this with the way that Suzanne Collins writes (first person, present tense), as well as the way she addresses this scene in the books, which the movies sort of omit. This is a classic "violence is okay, sex is not" sort of situation, in my opinion.

Katniss woke to the sound of whimpering. She opened her eyes and saw it was dark out; immediately alert, she quickly identified the place, the time, and that she was safe. She was home, in the old Victor's Village in District 12, it was the middle of the night, and Peeta was thrashing around in bed next to her.

She knew exactly what to do, and had in fact done over and over again in the long months they'd been home together after the war. Frankly, she had the same moments, where she woke with a start, a scream, in a cold sweat. Sometimes she woke with him already wrapped around her, shushing her and stroking her hair. She didn't even know what the dreams were, sometimes, but just that as soon as she was awake, when he was with her, touching her, grounding her in reality, the fear receded almost immediately.

With him, she couldn't do that. So she did what had worked so well recently: she sat up, leaning on an elbow, watching him, and started to softly sing to him. She knew from experience that if she touched him when he was in the throes of a nightmare, she ran the risk that one of the old conditioned reflexes would wake before his conscious mind did. She had no desire to feel again what it was like to have the person she loved more than anything in the world (that she had left, anyway) trying to kill her.

So she sang one of the church songs she knew he remembered her singing when they were children. And she saw the thrashing slowly cease, and eventually saw his eyes open. When she saw him look over and fixate on her, when she could see that his eyes were calm, clear, only then did she reach over and brush his hair back, gently. Only then did she shift close to him in the bed. And then he rolled over to her and let her put her arms around him and hold him as the remainder of the adrenaline and fear went away.

She stroked his arm softly as she finished the song. There was silence for a few minutes. Then, a little weakly, he said, "You were trying to kill me in the Games. Real or not real?"

She smiled down at him and said, "Definitely not real." He buried himself in her arms and exhaled slowly in relief.

Muffled, he said, "You stupidly protected me over and over in the Games, real or not real."

She laughed and said, "Real."

He unburied himself and smiled up at her. When he was clear-headed, when he smiled at her like that... it always surprised her how good that felt. Especially given that there had been so much time during those three years where she never thought she'd see him smile again. That he was happy, by itself, made her happy. It was a strange feeling.

Then he said, soberly, "You're the most beautiful thing in the world. Real or not real?" She laughed and gave him a squeeze and said, "I don't think I'm qualified to answer that one. I don't think so, myself. But you seem to."

He laughed, reached up to cup her cheek, and said, "Well, real then."

She leaned down and kissed him softly. He responded, sitting up in the bed and sliding closer so they were at the same height. This was one of those times where the adrenaline seemed to have its own uses... they'd slept together so many times, but so much of the time they were so broken and exhausted that they never did anything about it. But this time, the kissing became gradually more urgent, and she did something she'd never done before -- as they slid their arms around each other, she had accidentally caught the edge of his shirt and instead of disentangling herself, she just slid her hand inside it. He made a little muffled sound that she interpreted as pleasure, as she felt him shift, felt the muscles move under her hand, feeling how smooth his skin was... except...

She broke out of the kiss, and as he opened his eyes, she saw how intent he was, how alert, which would have worried her -- it reminded her of his battle-ready look -- but there was a languidness in it too that was new and somehow exciting rather than worrying.

But what had stopped her... she said, softly, "Peeta, what did they do to you?" He looked down, the moment of arousal passing. He shook his head; maybe it was shame in his voice when he said, "I don't want to talk about it."

She needed, though, to see. She tilted his chin back up to look at her, and shook her head at him. "Then let me look, you don't have to say anything," and she reached for the edge of his shirt.

He tried to protest, but she was gently insistent. Eventually he helped her pull the t-shirt off that he always slept in.

She had to admit that for a baker he still had a pretty good physique. Gale would certainly have outdone him on that, but that wasn't remotely what was important. What was important was the way he was looking at her fearfully. Afraid of what she would think? But he was like a wild animal who somehow trusted her anyway.

The moon was just peeking through the window, and it was full enough to provide quite a lot of light. They'd looked each other in the eyes in darker places, and seen what they needed to see. So now she took a look at what she'd felt on his back -- scars. As she looked him over, she traced them with her fingers, wondering and not wanting to wonder what horrible pain had accompanied their making.

After a minute or two, the sheer weight of the number of scars, though some were fainter than others, started to really hit her. Eventually she just started to cry, softly. "So.... so many..." she whispered.

He looked up at her again as she sat back up to face him. He didn't say anything. She said, "And... they're my fault."

Now he objected. He reached over and brushed tears from her cheeks, and leaned in to kiss her gently. "No, Katniss. Not real."

"B-but if they'd taken you instead of me, like I told them to... Coin wanted you instead of me anyway... you wouldn't have suffered like this..."

Peeta shushed her softly. "If they'd taken me... which is not what I wanted, anyway... we wouldn't be sitting here now. And who knows if Coin or Snow would still be in charge. We wouldn't have this chance at a life together. We'd still be pawns in someone else's game."

He sighed. "I'm not going to say that it's not your fault. Snow did this to me because of you. But I think we both learned that we couldn't do anything without others bearing the consequences, back then. But... it's over now. It's done. We earned this chance at life. The hard way. I am not going to let them take away the little peace we have now by dwelling on what they did to us back then."

She smiled tearfully, sniffling. He wasn't half bad at motivational speeches, after all. And he could do it when he wasn't spitting mad, which seemed to be the only way she could do it. She was grateful not to have to do that anymore...

Peeta added, "I mean, when we're awake, of course. We both know dreams are a different problem. But... that's why I will always be here for you."

She smiled, and leaned forward, and kissed him again. Suddenly he shivered, and she could feel that he had goose-bumps.

She tucked the covers up close around them, and tried to wrap her arms around him to warm him up, rubbing his back. The kissing got urgent again, but he was still shivering.

She said, "Still cold?" He laughed ruefully. "A little. I'm not used to sitting around here without a shirt on." He felt around for his shirt, but she stopped him by kissing him again. He murmured to her, "Unless you have a better idea on how to stay warm."

She pulled back and looked at him, eyes wide. How many times had she wondered about this? Only idly, of course. There'd never been time for it, before. Or when there was time, there was always the feeling that they were waiting for their imminent death. Or that people were watching, that they were somehow performing.

So she said, as she solemnly pulled her own t-shirt off, "Sometimes I still feel worried that people are watching our every move." She tried to ignore her heart pounding, and his little hiss of indrawn breath as he looked appreciatively at her.

He said, "You know my trick, of course, for that." He slid closer and put his arms around her; it felt good on her bare skin.

"No," she said, tentatively leaning forward and kissing his neck, his shoulder. He moaned softly, then chuckled and said, "When I was with you -- especially when I thought you wanted me -- I just didn't care who was watching, because you were all that mattered."

She didn't know what to say when he said things like that, so she just leaned back a little to kiss him on the mouth again; this time when she pulled away his eyes flew open and there was that old look of incredulity. Still didn't believe that she could feel this way about him, maybe? When would it stop surprising him, she wondered?

Still, it melted her a little every time he did that. He didn't know how good he was, how important he was to her. Though she'd heard many people say that about her, over the last several years, how important she was to so many people. So maybe they had that in common. 

Abruptly she didn't want to think about any of that, and instead, gently shoved him back down onto the bed. The wide-eyed incredulity shifted to desire as she climbed on top of him and leaned down to kiss him again and promptly very little else mattered, to either of them. At least for a little while.


End file.
